This was it? A small ornamental hammer the size of his palm. Where was this "fabled treasure" this man possessed?
The young rogue left the manor by the same smelly route he'd came by, disappointment showing plainly on his face.
<span italic;"="">In the study, the case sat open, empty.
After seeing the [My First Character] thread a while ago and it newly popping up in my inbox for some reason, I thought I'd add a scroll where players could share their introduction to roleplaying.
As you are traveling through the forest you stumble accross a poor peasent, who begs you to help his village.
This is a quiet place in the forest of Kaarengard, an Inn where mostly rangers, woodsmen and the occaisonal adventurer spend their evenings, swapping tales of adventure and spreading the latest news.
"If force doesn’t work, use more of it"
Here is a selection of 30 different hammers, used by those who enjoy hearing the sound of bone being crushed.
In dark times people are willing to do and say anything for their salvation.
"What was i supposed to do it was just lying their!"
After succesfully killing his father in a military coup, for power, the self styled "Lord" Miranor, grabbed the reigns of control from his father, and began his military dictatorship.
Hammer good for monster bash! Flat monster is good monster!, ja?
"Daddy, daddy, why arent you moving answer me daddy" Kamira wept as she hugged her fathers cold body blood already congealing where the assassins dagger had been thrust.
"Looking for something?, a nice little suprise for the wife?; No. Or perhaps you are looking for that which you cannot buy on the open market.. Yes.. well whatever it is, we no doubt have it."
The thief slipped through the alley, and sped down the next hoping to lose his persuers.
"Damn", why did he have to lift this one, it seemed like such a simple job. How on earth did it turn into this?
He could hear the mans bodyguards closing behind him, and he prayed to the goddess they wouldn’t catch him, for he knew if they did, he would surely be hanged.
An idea sparked in his brain. "The shadows", he thought,"I must get to the shadows."
Only another few meters and he would be safe. As he neared his destined stop he slipped back his sleeve revealing the bracelet. "Karnir Aroyth", and as he stood there in the shadows, he vanished from sight.
AutoMedon – A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
“It’s strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its’ workings or even if the damn thing is” – Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman